“Trips, toiletries, clothing, gifts, et cetera.”
Dad and Delaney had never brought me gifts, and I could count on one hand the number of times they had visited me. The only money I’d ever received were the annual deposits, which shouldn’t have made a huge dent in the trust.
Mr. Tottle glanced down at the file again. “For the first year of the trust, no money was withdrawn. Then your only sibling—Delaney Henderson—was placed in charge of the trust after your father—Parker Henderson—was declared mentally incompetent.”
Delaney had blown through the money left for me. My face flushed with anger. “The withdrawn money was never spent on my care.”
Mr. Tottle frowned and rifled through the papers in the file. “Each withdrawal was accompanied by a written receipt, and the money was spent in accordance with the trust terms. Would you like to take a look?”
Would I ever.
He handed me the papers, and I scanned the receipts. There were extensive trips across the country, expensive clothing, furniture, and other odds and ends. Each lavish purchase was accompanied by a check with Delaney’s signature.
I swallowed hard and faced Mr. Tottle. “I never went on any of these trips or received any of these purchased items.”
His kind face expressed even more compassion. “This is disturbing news, indeed.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I whispered.
“I’d suggest getting an attorney and pressing charges. Perhaps he can sue the party responsible for damages, and you can recoup your losses.”
Was there any money left in the family estate? I had my doubts. This money was lost forever.
He stood, and I understood he was finished with me and my problem. I rose on shaking feet. “May I have a copy of that file?”
“Certainly. I wish you well, and I’m sorry for the disturbing news.” He thrust the file into my hands and guided me out the door, gently yet firmly.
I stepped outside into the blazing heat, clutching the handful of papers.
One hundred eighteen dollars and thirty-five cents. I doubted that would even pay an hour of a decent attorney’s fee.
I’d been royally screwed.
Chapter 12
VIOLET
Present day
Caw caw caw.
The crows’ cry and a cacophonous flapping of wings alerted me to trouble. What had Delaney done now? They had a mutual hate society operating. It infuriated Delaney that they messed with her garden, and they in turn had declared her public enemy number one because she used to throw stones at them while trying to protect her seeds and produce.
Crows never forgot a face. They’d even pass information on an enemy down through the generations in their sophisticated Corvidae language.
Don’t ever anger a crow.
I got out of the car and ran to the backyard in time to witness Delaney lift a large rock and raise it in her right hand. Over a dozen crows flittered above my sister, raucously cawing. Dad was farther back in the yard, digging holes and ignoring the drama.
“Stop it!” I yelled. “You promised!” She’d vowed years ago to never harm them again when I’d caught her throwing stones.
Delaney cast me a brief glance and then threw the rock at one of the scolding crows that was swooping low. Her missile brushed the edge of its black wing.
Tux? I anxiously searched for a patch of white on its breastbone, relieved to see nothing but black feathers.
“Stop it, Delaney.” I planted myself in front of her, hands on hips.
Her face flushed red, and her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
“They keep eating my new tomato seeds.” She threw her head back and glared at the flock.
“Calm down. They’ll go away as soon as you get ahold of yourself and leave them be.”
She swiped her forehead and shut her eyes for a moment, evidently getting herself in check. “Stupid birds,” she mumbled. “I oughta get a pellet gun.”
“Leave them alone,” I snapped. “So what if they got a few seeds? They’re just following their instincts and trying to survive.”
“Wish they’d survive somewhere else. But no, you encourage them by setting out peanuts all the damn time. I’ll never get rid of them.”
As if sensing the danger had passed, the crows flew en masse to the woods. But I had no doubt they were still watching us. They observed everything from the dark shadows of their lairs, their black feathers and eyes blending in the darkness, unseen by us while they spied and cataloged our deeds, good or bad, as they affected their territory and helped them understand human nature. It was my personal belief that this went beyond mere instinct and intellect. They were generally curious about us.
“Forget them. We need to talk.”
She huffed. “I suppose I could use a break. Hot as hell today.”
Everything had to be on Delaney’s terms. She was only talking to me because she’d decided it was time for a break. Her manner had bothered me as a kid, but I’d put it down to older-sister bossiness. Yet maybe it went deeper.
“Hey, Dad,” she yelled. “Time to go in.”
To my surprise, he dropped the shovel and walked toward us.
“Meet you inside,” I said. No way I was confronting Delaney without ammunition. “I have to get something out of my car first.”
Her blue eyes grew speculative. “Sounds mysterious. What’s up?”
“You’ll see.” I left her then, unwilling to give her an opportunity to mount a defense or attack by tipping her off on the subject matter. I felt the scrutiny of her gaze on my back as I returned to the car for the bank file. Petty or not, a rush of satisfaction made my step lighter. Let her wonder what was up and be off kilter for a change. I considered putting off the discussion until after dinner and letting her stew a bit more, but I was too angry. And truth be told, a little fearful that if I didn’t speak up now while adrenaline energized my anger, I never would. That I would bury my fury and disappointment and be engulfed entirely by the force of her strong will.
File in hand, I returned to the house, where Delaney sat at the kitchen table sipping a drink.
“For you,” she said, pointing to another glass on the table. The crystal tumbler glowed with a maroon liquid bobbling with ice cubes that glittered like quartz crystals. “Raspberry-and-rosemary mint tea. Made with fresh herbs from the garden. Super refreshing.”
My mouth watered, and I became aware of my parched throat. The unexpectedly nice gesture on Delaney’s part was probably calculated, but that didn’t mean I had to go thirsty. I picked it up and gulped half of it down at once. It was delicious. “Where’s Dad?”
“Watching TV. What’s up?” she asked, eyeing the folder.
I remained standing while she sat. “I went to the bank today.”
The silence gathered, and I let the tension build, closely observing her face for signs of guilt or fear. Delaney met my gaze head-on, unflinching.
“So? Go on,” she urged, taking another sip of tea.
“I know what you did.”
“And what would that be?”
Her question was laced with amusement, and I flushed with anger all over again. I raised my voice. “You stole from the trust account Mom left me. It’s almost all gone.”
“Steal? I did no such thing.”
Her calmness turned up the heat of my fury. I slapped the file on the table, and the papers spilled out. “Yes, you did. It’s all here, Delaney. Every withdrawal. All the fancy trips and clothes and jewelry and God knows what else. I never got anything, and you never ever took me anywhere. Not even out to a McDonald’s for a damn cheeseburger.”
I might as well have lit a match. Delaney rose to her feet and glared. “You’re accusing me of profiting from all the money in the family?” She gave a bitter laugh. “That’s hilarious. You’ve ruined us, Violet. In every way—financially and emotionally. You and your mother ruined the Henderson name.”
Even though I was taken aback in disbelief, I caugh
t that she’d said your mother, instead of our. We were half sisters, but it wasn’t something we ever mentioned. I never even thought about it much. Delaney had always been in my life, and my mom had married Dad when she was only four years old. My mom had raised her—the only mother that Delaney had ever known since her biological mother had died when she was two years old.
“Leave Mom out of this. How dare you spend my trust fund?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I deserved to have at least a little fun in life. I worked my fingers to the bone all day, every day, for over a decade while you sat on your ass at that expensive, private mental house.”
“I wasn’t sitting on my ass. And that private place was only for two years; then it was the state hospital. Hardly idyllic. But you’d never understand.”
“Only two years? That place cost a damn fortune. And I’d take weaving baskets any day compared to what I’ve been through. I’m the one who had to make the funeral arrangements when she died. I’m the one who’s had to take care of Dad. I’m the one who takes care of this old house. I’m—”
“Stop it,” I said through clenched teeth. “If I could have helped, I would have.”
“Right. Easy for you to say that now.”
“I needed that trust money, Delaney. It was going to help me start over in life. Someplace where people don’t know me.”
“What about me?” She thumped her chest. “You’re leaving again, and I’m stuck. It’s not fair.”
I tried to reason with her. “You’re getting married and moving to Birmingham. I’d call that a new start.”
“Do you know what’s left of our family’s supposed fortune? Almost nothing.”
Typical of Delaney to switch topics. My head spun at the news we’d lost everything. “Nothing? Where did it all go?”
“Your mom didn’t have as much as we all thought she did. She led us on. Once we paid her burial fees and set aside for your trust fund, everything else went into paying for your care. She’d stipulated in the will that it be earmarked just for you. All she cared about was seeing that you were provided for, and the hell with me and Dad.”
I sank into a chair and dropped my head into my hands. Mom. How different my life would be had she lived. I wouldn’t have made it if I’d been thrust into the state system right after Ainsley’s disappearance. When I’d left the private facility and been placed in a state one, my quality of life had plummeted.
“You told me the private place was too expensive, but I didn’t know it put such a burden on the family. When I was forced to transfer to state care, it felt like I was being punished. Only I didn’t know what I’d done.”
Delaney sighed and sat back down as well. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but when you started screaming at me, I lost my temper.”
“I’m sorry.” I wouldn’t have believed it thirty minutes ago, but I was apologizing. Again. No matter what happened, everything turned out to be my own fault. I laid my head on the table, on top of the bank statements. The numbers blurred and squiggled, and I shut my eyes.
“You’re forgiven.” She patted my arm. “Looks like you’re all tuckered out.”
Her words seemed to come from the bottom of a well—deep and distorted. I felt a pressure near my elbow and then a tug.
“Why don’t you go lie down a bit on the couch?”
A solid wrench shot through my arm and shoulder, and I was lifted from the chair. I roused myself.
“This way.”
More pressure across my shoulders and the nape of my neck. So heavy I wanted to melt into the floor and curl up in a little ball.
“C’mon. One foot in front of the other.”
Stumbling, I made it to the couch at last and fell into its soft, worn fabric, as exhausted as if I’d completed a triathlon. A pillow was tucked beneath my head, and seconds later, the pinch in my feet released. Dead weight plopped onto the pine flooring—once, twice. My shoes? The thumps echoed in the deep recesses of my mind.
My thoughts drifted into a gray void, but I couldn’t quite slip into the comfort of sleep. Straining, I opened my eyes. Delaney’s face swam before me, shifting and wavering, as if I were viewing her from underneath a layer of clear water. Wind rippled the surface, distorting her features—the blue eyes framed with blonde lashes, the Mona Lisa smile curling the edges of her full lips. A smile that I could never interpret. Was it kind or condescending? Tendrils of honey-colored hair tickled my neck and cheeks.
“Whaaat?” My tongue and mouth were lazy, unable to form distinct syllables. Both my upper and lower lips were numbed, useless dead appendages.
“Shh.” Delaney’s index finger touched the cupid’s bow of her lips.
Mesmerized, I trailed the trajectory of her finger as it—ever so slowly—left her mouth and traveled toward me.
“There’s a good girl,” she whispered.
The tip of her finger brushed against my mouth—shockingly cold. I shivered and closed my eyes, unable to deny my body’s urgent need for sleep. Or maybe it was an instinct to shut out Delaney’s image.
The gray void morphed into a black abyss. Currents of raven-colored water flowed against my bare legs. My eyes scanned the darkness, searching. A few feet away, the inky water churned and bubbled, as if a river monster stirred.
With a great splash, the surface erupted. Ainsley’s head and shoulders bobbed up from the frothy depths. Her sly smile and teasing eyes pierced me. A hand lifted from the water, and she crooked a finger at me.
Come here to me.
I’m coming.
But my legs were thick and heavy as tree trunks, dead weight that could not move against the raging current. Ainsley slowly sank back into the river.
Don’t leave me! Take me with you!
In reverse motion, the churning waters stilled, and the bubbling subsided. The last air bubble burst, and once again, I was alone in the world.
Ainsley. My forever-vanished dark mermaid.
Chapter 13
VIOLET
July 2, 2007
“Come back,” Ainsley calls from the dirt shoreline, and I return to her as best I can under the sliver of moonlight. Its beams cast shimmering glitter across the muddy river water, as if strewn by some careless god.
Ainsley’s long black hair slips from the loose bun and falls, covering her shoulders like a veil of midnight. Just as mine does. We could be sisters and not just best friends.
She wiggles out of her shorts. No panties. She tosses the shorts onto the limb of a nearby oak, and they land next to her yellow T-shirt.
I almost catch up to her, but she slips out of my grasp at the last second.
A tease.
Sometimes I think I hate her. No, that’s not true. I love her.
Ainsley splashes into the water and dances to some unseen music. Mud oozes between my toes as I navigate the river’s unpredictable bed. I try not to think about snakes.
“Pssst.” Ainsley crooks and then flicks her fingers at me like a striking rattler.
“You don’t scare me.” I creep forward and gasp when my foot strikes a sharp rock.
“Stop being such a baby.”
I suck it up, swallowing huge gulps of humid air.
“Let’s take a dive,” she says, and I limp along, following Ainsley up the well-worn dirt path to the cliff. It’s only about twenty feet up, but compared to the rest of the flat Alabama countryside, it seems mountainous.
At the top, Ainsley flies across the red dirt, grabs onto the frayed rope dangling from an oak, and swings Tarzanlike across the river, letting go once she’s a safe distance from shore. For three seconds, she’s suspended between air and water. A flash of pale skin followed by a streak of black hair that breaks free of the bun and whips about her head like a dark cloud.
A shriek and a splash, and Ainsley quickly surfaces.
“Your turn, kid.”
Irritation prickles the back of my neck. Only a year older than me, and she thinks I’m a baby now. Ever since she turned fifteen last mont
h and started dating that Sammy Granger, she acts like a Miss Know-It-All.
She slings me the rope, and I catch hold of it on its knotty end. My hands are slick with perspiration, and it almost slips through my fingers. Then I’m flying, body tense, anticipating the drop. I let go and hit water. The water might be muddy, and it isn’t cold in the summer, but it’s wet, and I’m grateful for small mercies. A whoosh, and the perspiration is washed from my body.
Ainsley laughs and splashes me. She’s close, but just out of touching range. I wonder if Sammy has ever seen her like this. I don’t want to think of Sammy.
I splash her back. Ainsley grabs my arm and pulls me to her. I hardly dare breathe. She stares at me with the strangest flicker of emotions dancing in her gray eyes. Anger, no. Humor, maybe. Pity, yes. Affection, a touch. Exasperation, loads.
A roar of crickets and skeeters drums in my ears, loud as a marching band. I can’t think, can’t react.
“Little Violet,” she murmurs, cocking her head to the side.
I’ve just opened my mouth to argue when I notice her gaze has shifted to some point beyond my shoulder.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I thought I heard something.”
My skin tightens with fear, and I resist the urge to glance back. Hatchet Lake is so named because of a 1941 murder when one winter Jed Isaack caught his wife, Irma, meeting another man by the lake. In a rage, he picked up a nearby hatchet, whacked Irma to death, and then threw her body into the cold water. Ever since, people claim that Irma, wearing a tattered, bloody nightgown, roams the nearby woods of both the lake and the river feeding into it, crying for her lover to save her from Jed.
Tonight wouldn’t be the first time that Ainsley or my sister has frightened me by pointing at the woods and screaming, “There’s Irma!” They know I’m a sucker when it comes to ghost tales.
I lift my chin. “Liar. You’re just trying to scare me.”
“No, really. I heard a twig snap, then a rustling through the pine trees over there.”
I jerk my head around and peer through the inky blackness. The pines across the river are the same as ever. Nothing emerges from their dark shadows. We both stand still, waiting. We’ve sneaked out of our houses to meet here late at night, and if we get caught . . . well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.
Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1) Page 9
